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Tyari The Face in Her Stars 01
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Targon Crest icon

Short Story

The Face in Her Stars

By Rowan Noel Williams

Lore[]

Under the heat of the midday sun, my opponent and I circled one another. I kept my weight on my heels, hefting my enormous shield. Its spiked sun-in-glory rose in a dazzling display, providing cover for all but my eyes. Crouching low, armored boots scraping across the tamped earth, I slowly advanced like a hungry bolor.

My opponent’s golden armor reflected dappled light in the dust, and though their expression was hidden by the shadow of their helmet, their eyes blazed, locked on my own. I waited—not indecisive, but precise.

My patience was rewarded when their gaze flicked just to the side and over their shoulder, trying to find their footing and continue their retreat. It felt as though I was watching from outside my body, my movements so practiced that I hardly thought about them.

I rushed Shorin with a cry. They raised their shield defensively, but I lifted my own and then drove it down, using their front-heavy weight to topple them. In a flash, my sword was over my shield, pointed at their throat. They lifted their sword to the side to show the stroke would have felled them.

“Your guard was up... but you were distracted,” I suggested, stepping back and resuming a guarded stance, blinking away sweat. “Let’s try again.”

Shorin groaned. “Oh, let’s rest for a moment, please, Tyari,” they said, sheathing their sword and unbuckling the shield from their arm. “We have more than earned it.”

I straightened and nodded, removing my helm. I should have felt energized by besting an opponent, but instead I felt tired.

“I wouldn’t mind,” I admitted. I raked damp hair off of my face and began the arduous process of removing my armor.

Shorin grinned at me and took off their helmet, tossing their dark braid over one shoulder. They shrugged off the padding under their armor, revealing the plain clothes of an acolyte of the Solari infantry. They peeled the front of their shirt off their chest and billowed it, fanning themselves.

“Nice work,” they said. “I thought I was clever to bait you into pressing the attack, assuming you’d leave your flank open, but you proved me wrong.”

“I have a height advantage,” I pointed out, which was true—though Shorin was of average stature, I was a good head-and-shoulders taller, and a fair amount heavier.

“Height, certainly, but you’ve got the makings of a great soldier. And you’re a dedicated acolyte. Who else would be training on their day off?” They shot me another grin.

I allowed myself a smile in return. “If this is your way of thanking me, know that I'm happy to help if it means you feel better prepared for the trials ahead.”

Shorin scoffed playfully and came to stand before me, hands on their hips. “You’re a good friend, and a good warrior. I suspect you’ll be leading your own phalanx before too long,” they said. “I’m proud of you, Tyari.”

I shrugged as my smile wavered and held, trying not to look too forlorn. Both of us strove to become 03MT082-full Solari soldiers, Face of the Mountain item HD Rakkor who fought in defense of LoR Non-Champion Non-Spell Indicator6 the Sun and Her chosen—the Solari faithful. Ever since my protection magic had manifested as a child, I had dreamed of the honor afforded to those noble warriors, donning their golden armor to protect friends and family.

And, after many years in training, I was good at it... but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t relish the idea of going to battle like some of the other acolytes did. I wasn’t impassioned by prayer. I didn’t beam with pride to see our shining soldiers demonstrate their martial prowess. All of it felt... hollow, somehow.

And it made me feel like a pretender.

My gaze wandered up the snowy slopes of Targon Crest icon Mount Targon. I found myself regarding it more and more lately, its great form an impressive constant. I thought of how it would feel to climb it—the conviction and determination it must take, risking danger for reward... and my heart beat a little faster. Hurriedly, I turned away.

It was not quite winter, and for now, the sun felt good. Soon it would offer little comfort against the piercing cold that descended over the mountains. I removed the last of my armor and walked to the edge of the plateau. On one of the lower peaks, I could see shrine tenders attending midday prayers, the flames of their braziers bright even at this distance. Shepherds led flocks of goats and tamu in the valleys.

I glanced back at the great mountain, looming in the near distance. I didn’t know how long I’d been lost in thought, but my reverie was broken by Shorin’s laughter.

“I said, you seem distracted, Tyari.”

“Oh.” I felt heat rise in my cheeks, and Shorin chuckled.

“You aren’t cheered by the thought of leading a glorious army into battle at dawn?” They spread their arms wide to indicate the size of such a contingent, and I rolled my eyes, laughing.

“I’m sorry, Shorin. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I said, apologetically.

“Of course you do, my friend.” They offered me a knowing smile, and I froze. How well Shorin knew me. “We’re only a month out from the trials, and you’re the frontrunner for alpha initiate. No wonder your thoughts are elsewhere.”

I turned my face away to hide my disappointment. They only saw the dutiful acolyte, after all.

How little the trials seemed to matter right now! I wished I could tell them how I felt, about my dissatisfaction, but my feelings were jumbled, impossible to voice. Yet if anyone understood the pressure I was under, it was Shorin. And if anyone knew my heart, it was my closest friend.

Tell them.

“It’s exciting,” was all I could say.

“From your expression, I wouldn’t think it.”

They stood beside me, gray eyes following where my own had led—up the mountain, disappearing into the massive bank of clouds that perpetually lingered there. I somehow felt that we were both looking beyond it.

“Tyari,” they began, then paused.

I glanced over and froze again. Something in Shorin’s expression reflected an emotion I recognized in myself: longing.

Longing for what?

“I won’t be taking the initiation rites,” they told me, attention fixed on that bank of clouds.

“What?” I was perplexed. “You... you’ve played at being a soldier since we were children! Your father used to boast that you held a sword before you could walk. You’ve trained for it your whole life! And... you’re going to give it up? How? Why?”

“That,” they said, and pointed toward Mount Targon’s peak.

Long and long the mountain stretched overhead. Who knew how far away the peak itself was? Yet Shorin’s expression was certain.

My mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”

“Undertaking a journey wherein death is all but guaranteed? Dear friend, I have never been more serious.” Shorin laughed easily. They seemed so unburdened, as if climbing the mountain were the only choice, and forever had been. I envied their conviction.

“Why?”

They made a noise of acknowledgment. “I’ve been asking myself the very same since I first felt the mountain call to me.”

“You don’t know? But you have your honor to uphold, and that of the Solari warriors! If you’re looking for an Aspect’s blessing or power, there are other ways to test your strength and prove yourself,” I argued. “Why don’t we keep running these drills? You’ve almost got it—”

“I’m not concerned with any of that. I don’t want power. I don’t even want honor,” they said. “I just want an answer.”

“But... your family,” I began, thinking on Shorin’s younger sister, Hadaetha, who would also be joining the infantry, and Yundulin, their father, who was an anointed warleader by the time he had retired. “You would be letting them down, wouldn’t you?”

They frowned.

“There is so much danger—you would be worrying them, and for what? What if you fail? What if you never come back?”

After a long moment, Shorin spoke again. “You’re right. Nothing is guaranteed. There’s still time to decide.” They shrugged uncertainly, and their voice lacked conviction. “Maybe the answer I’ve been looking for lies with the infantry, after all.”

“Exactly,” I said, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. I couldn’t bear to think of losing Shorin. “We’re shield-mates. And there’s nobody else I’d want by my side.”

They glanced up the mountain, then began to don their armor again. “Alright, Tyari. The same maneuver as before—I want to see if I can keep my footing this time.”

Even after Shorin left, I continued my drills. My movements were practiced, precise. I owed it to my family, and my people, to be the perfect soldier. If I was not a warrior... I was nothing. As the sun began to dip behind the foothills, I removed my helmet and looked out over the sunset, letting the sweat dry on my brow. The last of the harvest season’s insects buzzed about, but soon they, too, would rest. The distant bleat of goats and the rising smoke from cooking fires felt peaceful, comforting. It reminded me that I would soon be seeing my cousin LoR Non-Champion Non-Spell Indicator1 Anua for a meal.

I trusted my cousin, though she could be stubborn. She had always known her path. The turmoil I felt, and the desire to seek an answer... I wondered what she would make of it.

I thought on what Shorin had said. How could they want to leave without knowing why they were going? I wasn’t so set in my own journey, but I hoped this feeling would pass. I was head of my class. I had my family and my faith to serve, and what I wanted was not more important than the role I had to play.

I had friends. I had faith. I had family. I had honor. So why did it all feel like I was living someone else’s life?

Suddenly angry, I picked up a stone and hurled it at the retreating sun.

I went to gather my things, collecting my armor, sword, and shield. As I lifted my weapon, I paused, seeing my reflection in its blade. I felt as though I was looking at a stranger—a lonely Rakkor with a heavy heart. But my people saw a soldier, a leader, a skilled and dutiful Rakkor meant to fight in the war of Sun and Darkness. And if that was who my people saw... that was who I had to be.

Tyari The Face in Her Stars 02

The first snow was just a dusting, which was fortuitous, as the trials were only a couple of weeks away. The other acolytes and I had gathered to march up and down the slopes of our village in the cold. It was a show of stamina, and a test of our faith while the Sun grew more distant from us.

I pushed myself to excel. If I couldn’t make myself feel like a soldier, I could at least act the part.

Shorin was beside me, serving as my shield-mate. They had said no more about the mountain’s call, and so I assumed they had decided to stay. For that, I was grateful. I was far less lonely with them by my side.

I was caught up in my own thoughts, eyes forward as we rounded a tight corner on a narrow path. I had been whispering a Solari prayer when I heard Shorin yell, and I turned in time to see them stumble.

As they teetered on the edge, I tossed my sword and shield aside and leapt to save them, extending my powers of protection in the hopes of creating a magical shield, but it was too late; the rock they had been standing on sheared off the cliffside, and they landed hard below.

I was the first down the cliff after them, cursing myself for my inattention, and gasped as I came on the grisly scene. I dared not lift Shorin from the rubble, and shouted for aid instead, cradling their head in my lap as they cried out in pain.

One of the Solari priests came, hands blazing with mystical fire, but the injury was not one that could be healed simply, and certainly not this far from the temple. My heart sank as my peers carried Shorin between them back to the village. It was not certain that Shorin would walk ever again.

I was allowed to visit Shorin a few days later, once they had been returned to their family home. Their sister and father greeted me, curt but polite, and guided me to Shorin’s room. There was my childhood friend, their legs extended in front of them as they sat abed, propped up on a series of handmade blankets and pillows. They gave me a tired but cheerful smile as I came in and sat beside them, noting the many small gifts and trinkets at their bedside. Among them was a pendant bearing the crest of the Solari, a gift I had given to their father so he would pass it along.

“Shorin,” I began, my chest and throat tight, “I’m so sorry—”

“For?” Shorin interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“I... for... I didn’t...” I fumbled for the words, at a loss. “I was your shield-mate. I should have caught you in time. And my magic, I...” I lifted my hands by way of demonstration, then let them drop into my lap, my face hot.

Shorin stared at me, their expression disbelieving. “Do you really think you’re to blame for any of this?”

“Yes!” I blurted, then lowered my voice. “Soldiers of the Sun shine their light for their allies.”

Shorin shook their head, and I noted the deep bags under their eyes. “Certainly, when we’re in the heat of battle and fending off the enemy, but... I don’t think we have a contingency for tripping and falling off a mountain.” They grinned, then winced. “My heart wasn’t in the drill, not really. No matter how much attention you had been paying, I doubt you could have stopped it from happening.”

My heart lurched. “You didn’t... do this on purpose,” I said, “as a way out of the trials... did you?”

Shorin scoffed. “If I wanted to climb the mountain by the farewell ceremony, I’d want to be in my best shape, don’t you think?”

I frowned. I trusted Shorin, but the situation left me feeling uneasy. “So... what do you think you’ll do?”

“Well,” Shorin began, “I’m honestly not sure. I feel myself drawn to the mountain. The journey... that’s what I needed. That’s what I felt. Seeking an answer didn’t mean sabotaging myself before I could become a warrior. But now both paths are closed to me.” They smiled wryly.

I took a deep breath. Disorganized as my thoughts were, I owed it to them to be honest. To say what I hadn’t said when they had first revealed their own ambition.

“I... I know what you mean,” I said. “The need to know... whatever it is that the journey might reveal.” I paused, and Shorin raised an eyebrow expectantly. “But I can’t just leave everything—all of this—behind.”

Right?

“Tyari.” Shorin fixed me with a serious stare. “You have to go.” I began to object, but they leaned forward, intent. “I see it in you. I’ve seen it... forever.”

I bit my tongue. How? How could Shorin have seen it, or known it, before me?

They gestured vaguely. “More importantly, I know it because I feel it, too. And I don’t have it in me to overlook it anymore, my friend. I can sense you want the change.” Shorin sighed. “This is the last farewell ceremony before the trials. If you don’t go, you’ll be inducted into the infantry, and should you ever abandon your post there... That would be more than dishonorable. Even if you did come back from the mountain, your family would outright disown you.”

Their brows furrowed. “This is the time. You have to go.”

My thoughts felt scattered. “This... is very sudden. You’ve been wanting this for a while, but I’ve only just recognized what this feeling is. I can’t make this choice so impulsively! There are the trials to attend, and service in the name of the Sun, and—”

And how could I explain this to the other acolytes? To Anua?

I fell silent. The prospect of making this climb stirred something in me, and I had to admit that I was excited. If Shorin had seen this in me for a while, perhaps the pull had been there longer than I thought. Have I really been gazing up at the mountain all these years?

Now that I reflected on it, it seemed so clear. When I looked to the mountain, I saw more than opportunity. I felt hope looking at its winding paths, its soaring peak. I felt its draw.

And I was surprised to find that what I felt most of all was yearning.

“If you don’t believe me,” Shorin said, “consult with LoR Non-Champion Non-Spell Indicator4 Raduak. He knows the ways of the mountain and has advised many Rakkor about its mysteries. I have no doubt he can help you.”

I knew I was well-suited to the ranks of the Solari infantry. There was no question that I would be a good soldier. But was I truly meant for something else? Raduak and I were related, a cousin of a cousin, and Shorin was right—I could ask him for his advice. He was a well-known mystic, and truly insightful.

I hadn’t seen him since my magical powers had manifested as a child, and only then for him to advise my uncle on how to watch for any further developments in my ability. My talents had never become particularly impressive, and so I did not delve into training with him, as others with more significant ability might have.

He lived up in the foothills not far from my home, his dwelling built into the mountain. I approached the wooden door, which was masterfully crafted to sit flush with the hewn rock, and took a moment to steady myself.

I knocked politely and stood back. I had just begun to doubt myself when the door opened inward and Raduak appeared in the entrance, raising bushy white eyebrows in surprise. “Tyari?”

“Yes, sir. It’s been a long time. May I speak with you?” I asked, shifting self-consciously under his searching gaze. He looked at me for a long moment, thoughtful, then waved me inside.

“Of course you may. Your uncle brought you—oh, what was it?—almost a decade ago, didn’t he?” He led the way, stroking his well-kempt beard. “Powers to defend others and keep them safe, so like our beloved Protector. An impressive power, and an important one, especially for a young warrior.”

“Yes, sir.”

The inside of Raduak’s home had seemed massive when I was a child, but now it felt somewhat cramped. Sigils and stars were scrawled across the rough walls and ceiling in dizzying patterns. Scrolls and parchment lay across a series of small desks. I ducked beneath a hanging mobile of what I assumed were constellations.

“So, have you come to ask for a blessing on your path to becoming a warrior? Advice on how to utilize those powers of yours?”

I hesitated, hunched against a wall where an enormous rack was stuffed with charts and leaning scrolls. Would I be seen as less dutiful if my path as a soldier was not at the forefront of my mind?

“Something else,” I admitted.

“Oh?” Pausing over a small astrolabe, Raduak turned in my direction. “Then...?”

I steeled myself. “Lately, I’ve felt a... a calling. Something beyond what I’ve known before. Something beyond mere ambition. Something that speaks directly to me.” I was fumbling, despite having thought on what to say at least a dozen times on the walk over. “What I mean to say is... I’ve been thinking about Mount Targon. I—I want to make the climb.”

He straightened, his expression unchanged, as if that were the most banal thing he’d ever heard. “And?”

I deflated. I thought admitting to this grand endeavor was worth some reaction. Was talk of abandoning everything I knew to climb an all-but-impassable mountain at the risk of catastrophic doom not enough? “And... I suppose I was wondering if you could advise me as to whether that was the right course.”

Raduak’s expression relaxed into one of gentle amusement, and he chuckled. “There’s no deciding your path for you, Tyari. I chart the stars and discern their meaning. I do not tell the future.”

I frowned, feeling self-conscious again. “No, of course not, sir. I didn’t mean that. I meant... when you look to the stars, what do you see? Is there... anything there that can help me?”

Raduak smiled. “What do you see?” he replied, and the painted night sky above us came to life.

My eyes grew wide as the symbols glowed and descended. I reached out to touch the stars, so suddenly near, but my hand passed through them. I could have sworn that I felt heat where the pinpricks of light shone. I stared at them in quiet wonder.

“As your gifts are those that lend themselves to protecting others, I will tell you the story of Taric Taric, the Shield of Valoran,” Raduak intoned. His voice and presence filled the room, powerful and commanding. “The Protector was not of the Rakkor. He was born in Demacia Crest icon Demacia, the city of petricite that lies many miles to the north. A soldier and a guard, he was nonetheless an appreciator of beauty and life. He found joy in the splendor of the forests and plains, in simple birdsong, in great works of art. His heart was full of love for the many things that make our world so beautiful.”

I knew of Taric. Many Rakkor, including my cousin Anua, revered him, for he watched over and protected life and beauty. I had never given much thought to him, as my life was devoted to the Sun, and She, too, was a protector of Her people.

Taric had been a mortal before he climbed the mountain and was granted tremendous power by an Aspect. I had never heard that he was a warrior before his ascent. Our stories were already intertwined.

“It was during his time as a soldier that he let himself become distracted, and it was then that the enemy struck.” The night sky in front of me flashed dangerously, stars flaring to life only to be extinguished, one by one. “His fellow soldiers, the people he had sworn to protect, were cut down. While he knew he would face certain punishment for his negligence, the hardest burden to bear was the weight of his guilt for failing them.”

Shorin. The tiny stars blurred, and I felt tears slip down my cheeks. I knew that guilt. That shame.

“Taric was sentenced to climb Mount Targon, though many expected he would instead go into exile, daunted by the task that lay ahead. However, he accepted the challenge. It was a test the Demacians did not expect him to succeed in. If he did, he would be rewarded with redemption. But how could a single mortal, ignorant of the mountain’s great powers, expect to brave Mount Targon alone?”

I scrubbed my face with the back of my hand. How indeed?

“He faced many challenges on his journey. Tests of his physical strength, as befit the soldier, but also tests of his will. Visions of the companions he had failed to protect haunted him. Great works of art were tarnished, ruined as marauding armies burnt cities to the ground. He saw the beauty and life that he so cherished meet their end, again and again. Yet he persisted.

“And the Aspect of the Protector found him worthy.”

Taric’s face coalesced before me, as though a constellation. His eyes were twinkling stars, two brilliant points of light that burned brighter than all the rest. It wasn’t me he was looking at... was it?

I turned to find Raduak watching me, his brows furrowed, his expression measuring.

“Look again, Tyari,” he said softly, indicating the swirling stars, and I obliged. Where there had been darkness, there was brilliance. I saw my own face among the stars, overlaid by something—someone—else.

In the patterns of this new constellation, I saw an expression of benevolence, of peace, and confidence. I didn’t know who or what this figure was, only that I felt strangely in harmony with them.

Was that meant to be... me?

“Who is LoR Non-Champion Non-Spell Indicator4 she?” I whispered.

“What do you see, cousin?” he implored gently.

I reached for the face. “She... she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. Is this... an Aspect?”

“It could be any one of a number of things,” he murmured.

My heart swelled in my chest. I saw her. I saw... myself.

“Do you see your face in her stars?” Raduak asked.

My eyes lingered on the constellation a moment longer before it faded back into an endless blanket of stars.

I was overwhelmed, unable to speak. Raduak motioned, and the lights disappeared, leaving us in the relative dark of the chamber.

He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “What you saw there... is for you alone to interpret. My only advice is that you trust your heart.”

I thanked Raduak and left, my mind abuzz. My breath plumed in the air as I emerged from the dwelling and onto the snowy slope. As I hurried home, I could not bring myself to behold the sea of stars above, fearful that I would not see her face again.

The trials were set to begin in less than two weeks’ time—the farewell ceremony, a week.

As I paced anxiously at home, the constellation from the night before came back to me, clear and bright, though I had never seen it before that evening. Something about it shone like a beacon in my mind. It felt at once like something I was, that I had to do, and something that was yet unattainable.

I tried to shut it out. Whatever this was couldn’t be for me.

The climb was made by those who had something to prove, but in the eyes of my people, I was already well on my way to being proven. I was to serve as a warrior until such time as I was no longer fit. Then I would retire, or start a family. That was... right. Wasn’t it?

It was supposed to be right—and yet the call persisted, clarion. Now that I had heard it, it would not be silent.

I had plans to share a meal with my cousin Anua. She would guide me, I had no doubt.

I gathered my warm cloak and gloves, donning them as I paused before the silvered mirror at the threshold, and I gazed at my reflection.

I saw my own face, but there was something in the way my hair fell, something in my posture, that reminded me of the woman I had seen in the stars. Moreover, there was something in me now that hadn’t been there before.

Conviction.

“I think it is foolish,” Anua told me plainly. She tucked the tips of her fingers into her clay cup, and when they had nearly reached the water line, she withdrew them to avoid being scalded. I reached across the low table between us and took my tea from her without it being offered. “Foolish,” I echoed faintly. A straightforward proclamation, but I expected no less from Anua. Others might expect more mysticism from a seer, but I knew very well that she wasn’t one who minced words.

She made a low noise of agreement.

“Why?”

“This is a sudden decision, Tyari.” She raised the cup to her lips, blowing steam off the surface before taking a tentative sip. “Our people prepare their entire lives for the climb. And you will do it—what, on a whim?”

“It’s not a whim, Anua. I saw something in the stars. A face. My face.” I hesitated, struggling to articulate just what I had seen, what I felt. “It’s a... a calling.”

“It is not a calling.” She snorted, shaking her head, causing the tiny polished stones she wore on her ears and braided into her thick red hair to tinkle. I bristled. My dear cousin. So blunt.

“What would you say it is, then?”

Anua sniffed. “Delusion. You have spent too much time daydreaming instead of training,” she said stiffly, taking another sip of her tea.

“I’ve already proven my ability as an acolyte. This is my chance to pursue something I want for the first time, instead of just doing what’s expected of me.”

“I seem to recall a young Rakkor very determined to join the infantry,” she said archly. “You would excel at it. Why ask for more than what is given to you?”

“I know how it must seem.” I hadn’t expected that she would challenge me so readily, and under the weight of her judgment, I struggled to sound as convinced as I felt. “But... I’ve changed. That’s what I mean when I say I’ve felt a calling.”

Anua lacked the ability to see, but she pierced me with a disapproving glare nonetheless. “It is unlike you to be so impulsive, and it is foolish to assume your time spent as an acolyte is enough to see you through such a journey.”

“Taric did it without ever training for it,” I countered, though seeing her stiffen at his name made me feel ashamed, as though I had used it like a curse.

She brought her hand to the gems at her neck defensively. Gems, I knew, that she and her order believed had been gifted to them by the Protector himself. “Tyari,” she said flatly, her voice low, a warning.

I frowned. “Taric was a soldier, wasn’t he? That has been my path as well.”

“Then you know you are not acting as a soldier should. Where is your honor, that you would turn your back on your duty?”

I suppressed a squirm. I said much the same to Shorin.

“Taric and I share so many similarities,” I said. “If he could do it—”

“Taric climbed the mountain to atone. You are on the path to a place of honor. Why would you throw that away?” Anua snapped, frustrated, gesturing in a way that came perilously close to upending the teapot. I moved it aside as she withdrew. “He was no ordinary man, Tyari. It is not for us to make these comparisons, let alone hope to accomplish what he did through—well, extraordinary means.” She set her cup down emphatically on the polished wood of her table.

Her father had made that table, I knew. Another family heirloom. Another unspoken expectation. My face felt hot. A long moment of silence passed between us.

“I am sorry, cousin,” she said hesitantly. “Your family loves you. I love you. I cannot bear to think of what I might do if you should come to harm, or worse...” She shuddered.

“Anua.” I reached out and took her hand. “There is a chance of that, yes, but...” I sighed. “The faith that you put in your order’s protector... lend it to me. Lend me your strength and his. He would encourage me, wouldn’t he? I don’t want to make this climb without your blessing. It is your faith that will see me through.”

Anua was silent for a moment. Her fingers grazed the gemstones resting on her collarbone, and she turned away from me.

“We were raised together. We are all but siblings. It is because I love you that I will not give you my blessing.” She pressed her lips together. “Not when I know that you might meet your end before your life truly begins.”

I bowed my head. It felt as though my heart was breaking. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, sluggish and heavy. Chest tight, I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Anua...”

“I will say no more about it.”

I clenched my teeth hard, trying to prevent my forming tears from spilling over. How can she claim to love me if she won’t even try to understand? It felt like my journey was being brought to an end before I even began it.

“Very well,” I told her, slowly standing and placing my cup on the table. “Then I’ll do it without your blessing.”

She didn’t respond, and her gaze dropped to the floor as I stood a moment more, hoping for an apology or well-wishing before I went on my way... but she remained silent.

“Goodbye, cousin,” I said, the words hitching in my throat as I gathered my cloak and gloves. I hastily turned and left, closing the door gently behind me.

I took a deep breath as I stepped out into the snow. The cold felt good against my face, cooling my hot skin. I lowered my head and let out a sob.

With the trials so close, nearly all of the other acolytes were eager to practice, and I ran through drills and exercises with them until I was weary in both body and mind. So much the better to quell my racing thoughts. I was angry. I despaired. Was Anua right? She wanted to protect me, after all. Yet my thoughts kept coming back to the climb. I wanted to know what the journey held. But how could I hurt my family?

Over and over, the thoughts raced through my mind. I fought them off, channeling them into my drills. As they emerged, I cut them down, raised my shield against them, and threw myself into the practice.

I parted ways with the last of the acolytes for the day, and though they kindly and enthusiastically complimented my form, the praise felt hollow. I was simply attending to my grim duty.

It wasn’t until I heard their shuffling pace that I noticed Shorin was approaching, their slow, uneven stride supported by a cane. How long had they been watching me? I bristled, feeling vulnerable, resentful, and guilty.

“Is my form so poor?” I snapped, but Shorin simply smiled, brushing my anger off easily.

“Your form is perfect, as you know.”

Their cadence was so calm, their earnest good nature so obvious. My guilt doubled, now compounded by my misplaced impatience.

“Anua told me that you visited her.”

I turned my attention downward, partially to hide my embarrassed flush, kicking a stone out from underfoot. “And?”

Shorin’s voice was kind. “Is this really what you want, Tyari?”

I kept my gaze down, and my shoulders sagged. Suddenly the weight of my spear was too much, and I let the tip fall to the dirt. What could I say? The weight of this decision was as heavy as my weapon. It was so difficult to know. “Shorin...”

I struggled to find the right words. I was prepared to tell Shorin I wanted to do my duty as an acolyte, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie. Not again.

“We guide our lives by constants, like the Sun and the stars. Evidence of their influence is all around; we can see them.” I turned, lowering my shield. “How can I make this decision if all I have to trust is my own intuition?”

Shorin came to stand beside me, and placed their hand on my shoulder. “My friend,” they began, “if you were to live only by what is prescribed for you, and only in a way that others understand, would you be satisfied?”

I stood blinking in the sun. “No, but—”

“And would you be satisfied to simply take a partner, live out the rest of your days in the foothill villages, or the farms of the valleys?”

“No.”

“I admit, I cannot see you as a farmer,” they joked. Sobering, Shorin nudged me, and I looked up to meet their eyes. “I see the pain it causes you, Tyari.”

A cold thrill went down my spine, despite the heat of the day. They truly did know me. I said nothing.

“The pain of not knowing, but moreover, the pain of not pursuing that which calls to you.” They clasped my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake. “Uncertainty is not indecision, my friend. You aspired to be a soldier to protect those you love, but you must love yourself, too... and that you can only do if you honor your heart.”

After Shorin left, I stood in the dusty valley until long after the sun had set. The moon was barely a sliver this evening, and the night sky was illuminated by the stars.

I closed my eyes, thinking back to the constellation Raduak had shown me. Then I looked up. There, in my periphery, I saw the face again. Her face. My face.

She smiled, and there was a promise in it—the certainty I had been lacking.

I thought back to what Shorin had said, and Raduak, and even Anua. I didn’t need to know where my path was taking me—it was good enough to know that it was a path I needed to take. I silently dubbed the woman in the constellation “the Traveler,” and I knew in my heart that I must follow her, wherever she would lead.

I gathered my weapons and stripped off the armor of the Solari, for what I knew would be the last time.

At the foot of the ancient stone stairs leading up to the massive threshold, I stood among a small group of climbers. A Solari priest was beside us, staff in hand, giving benedictions before we took our oaths. The ceremony was as grim and somber as anything still considered a celebration could be. We faced the crowd of onlookers and well-wishers, and beneath the midday sun, we swore to relinquish all that we were leaving behind: our homes, our earthly goods, and our former oaths, in favor of the freedom to make our climb. As no one would be able to claim our bodies or bury us should we fail, the priest sprinkled soil over our heads, a final farewell.

All that was left was to step beyond the threshold, which would signify our departure. Now, however, was the last time we could speak to our friends and family. My hands trembled, clutching the staff my uncle had gifted to me when I first exhibited my powers as a child. He had said I would grow into it. How right he was.

I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell Anua that I was making the climb, so I had told her father, my uncle, who received the news with grim stoicism. While I could not expect her attendance, I looked for her regardless, hoping against hope.

I saw only Shorin. My heart swelled, but my joy was tempered by sadness. Anua had not come.

I steeled myself against sorrow, and embraced my determination to make the journey ahead of me.

I gazed at another Rakkor who was leaving, and it was not someone I recognized—a youth from a distant village, perhaps. He was clad in the garb of a mountain shrine tender, and I gathered that his trek was one with religious intent. It might have been that he was seeking power, glory, or good fortune, but I would not ask, and I hesitated even to guess. My reasons for climbing were my own, after all. Far be it from me to remark on those of others.

I wish I had paid more attention to what the ceremony’s priests were saying, but my mind had been buzzing. I had been going over my route, one that was as well-planned as it could be without knowing what the upper reaches of the mountain had in store. There had been those who ventured up and came back to tell the tale, but never beyond a certain point, and even then, it was said that the mountainscape became labyrinthine, unchartable for the ways that it shifted and moved.

A test of one’s will, as Raduak had said.

I spoke with Shorin once more, and their best wishes were given with the same cheerful demeanor as always. It felt strange, as though I was taking their place, but they would hear none of it. They seemed genuinely happy for me, and waved off my apologies and professions of gratitude sternly, but not unkindly.

“Your training will see you through the worst of it,” Shorin said with a confidence I did not feel, glancing over the map I had spent the last several nights drafting and annotating. “You’ve taken and passed an endless number of tests already.” They pointed at my chest. “The most important one was trusting yourself.”

We embraced and both shed tears, knowing it was unlikely we would meet again. But if anyone knew that I had to do this, it was Shorin. I watched them retreat slowly, aided by their cane, greeted by friends and family that I feared I would never see again... but strangely, my heart felt lighter.

The crowd was thinning as one by one, the climbers began to depart. Each went alone, taking a different path. I would soon know that same independence. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for my turn to step through the threshold, when I saw Anua approach, guided by her father.

I had thought I’d shed enough tears to last me until I reached Mount Targon’s peak, but I wept to see her. She must have heard my choked-up cry of relief, for a small smile played about her lips as she recognized my voice.

“Tyari,” she said gently. I took her hand, placing her palm flat against my heart and wrapping my own around it.

“Cousin,” I managed, swallowing hard and wiping away tears. “You came.”

She nodded hesitantly. “I thought on what you said. I still do not understand this, Tyari... but I can accept it. Because it matters to you, and I will love you always. If even a small blessing might make the difference on your journey, I would be unwise not to grant it.”

She produced a necklace almost identical to the one she wore, light blue crystals that chimed gently.

“We ask the Protector to shield our beloved cousin,” she murmured, lifting the necklace to the sky. “Taric, act as our shield against that which might harm us. Help us to see the path, so that we may find our way. Lend us your strength, so that we might find it in ourselves to endure.” She lowered the necklace and clasped it around my neck. “Especially our cousin... but also for those of us that are left behind.”

I closed a fist over the necklace. The crystals were cool and slightly rough. “Thank you. Thank you, Anua. This means so much to me. I promise to wear this always.” It felt naive to ask, but I did so anyway. “Will this... protect me?”

Anua smiled sadly. “I certainly hope so, cousin.”

I bid her and her father farewell, and soon enough, they, too, had slipped away into the crowd.

Of the others still making their last preparations, I saw a young woman by herself. I didn’t recognize her garb. It was clearly made for the cold, but the colors weren’t earthy, like mountain folk would wear, and she wasn’t heavily armored, like some who had passed through from more militant lands. She looked up occasionally, as if to scour the landscape for a familiar face, but then she returned to checking her packs, her items, her clothing, readying herself for the climb.

I felt a pang of sorrow for her. There were no gifts laid at her feet. She was utterly alone. Though her expression was determined, it could not hide the sadness beneath. Still... she was here.

I reflected on how lucky I was to have friends and family lend me their strength at such a meaningful moment. I could surely do the same for others.

After all, it was what the Protector would do.

I approached her, letting my nervous energy manifest as enthusiasm. “Hello,” I said, smiling, and she scanned my face as if expecting the friendly greeting to be false. “I saw you at the farewell ceremony. It’s a surprise to see someone on the mountain that isn’t a Rakkor.”

“True, I am not Rakkor,” she answered, still trying to read my expression. After another moment of my unwavering good cheer, she smirked and looked me up and down. “What is your name?”

“Tyari,” I said, and proffered a gloved hand to her.

She shook it. Her grip was firm. The grip of a warrior. “LoR Non-Champion Non-Spell Indicator5 Haley,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Tyari. So, you’re making the climb?”

“Yes.” I nodded, then added, “With you, I hope.”

Haley lifted her eyebrows, no longer suspicious, but genuinely taken aback. “You want to go with me?”

“I figure if we’re going to make it to the top, we’ll have a better chance if we work together.”

She was speechless. I waited, leaning on my staff.

After a moment, she nodded. “There was someone else at the ceremony. Another outsider, like me. A Demacian, I think—Emir? He seems to be a bit of a mountain man. Perhaps that would lend itself to our journey. Three people... it’s not quite so much of a longshot, then. What do you say?”

I felt my excitement build. “I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll find him.” She started off, then paused, glancing back at me. Her smirk became a genuine smile. “I’m glad we’ll be traveling together. You look so certain... as if you already know your path.”

I smiled in return, although a bit bashfully, and she chuckled.

“Emir and I, we will meet you by the farewell stones.”

“I’ll be there.”

I watched as she retreated into the dispersing crowd of well-wishers, who would soon be lost over the horizon like so many other trappings of the life I’d come from—disappearing and dropping away into the distance as we made our way up Mount Targon’s perilous slopes. Doubt and fear would be left behind, as well.

A sense of certainty enveloped me.

My journey began here, and it would end at the top. I knew that whatever I found on the way would be worth the climb.

Tyari The Face in Her Stars 03


References

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